


Cats, Cream, Canaries, and Other Idioms of Success

by Rrrowr



Series: A Non Calm Situation [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, catboy!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' new catboy body comes with a higher body temperature and an intolerance for the cold. Scott keeps him warm and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cats, Cream, Canaries, and Other Idioms of Success

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



> Happy birthday, baby~ And thank you so much for the art that now accompanies this series! ([here](http://daunt.tumblr.com/post/44122020366/break-from-work-to-polish-scott-catboy-stiles-i))

Stiles had hoped that it was just a temporary thing. He'd take a nap and when he woke up, the ears and the tail would just be a memory of a bad dream, never to be worried about again. But he falls asleep in Scott's arms, with Scott's nose pressed up against his neck, and wakes up with his ears twitching as his dad comes in from work.

Scott's already awake. "Yeah, he just got here," he says and twists around to grab the hoodie that Stiles has on the foot of his bed. "And unfortunately, you're still a bit not human. Put this on. Hide the tail. Pack some stuff. I'll let your dad know that you're staying at my place."

Stiles curls his fingers in the hoodie and watches Scott push to his feet and go to the door. Scott pauses before opening the door and looks back, giving Stiles a significant look. Stiles takes a deep breath and then nods, keeps nodding. "Yeah. Yeah okay. Give me a few minutes?"

Scott smiles and winks, giving Stiles a thumbs up. "Got it."

Stiles sort of fumbles his way into clothes while he listens to Scott tumble down the stairs and greet his dad. The hoodie is easy, though it makes his new ears twitch back, uncomfortable, but when it comes time to put on his pants, he gets them half way up his thighs before his tail starts getting in the way. He wants to tuck it around his waist, but the waistline gets in the way and he doesn't like the idea of accidentally catching fur in the zipper. So down the pants leg it goes, wiggling in complaint. Shoving it down beside his thigh has got to be right up there in the top ten weirdest feelings he's ever experienced.

"I swear, it'll only be for a few minutes," he promises. "Just bear with me alright?"

"You doing alright up there, Stiles?" Scott shouts up the stairs.

"Ye- Yeah!" Stiles shouts back, voice catching a little when he straightens up and the tail fur pulls back uncomfortably against the inside of his jeans. "Almost done packing!"

Packing goes... stiffly.

He pulls a duffel out of his closet and opens it wide on his bed and just chucks stuff into it from his dresser — t-shirts, wide legged shorts, underwear, nothing more than would be needed for a week. He doesn't think that he'll need more than that — hopes he doesn't, anyway — but he figures that he can make Scott sneak in for more if he does.

Walking takes effort. Every other step just makes him want to squirm. Then he gets to the top of the stairs and Scott's there at the foot of them, looking up. Stiles isn't sure what Scott sees or if he somehow smells something different, but he brightens up immediately and says loudly as he tromps up the stairs, "Finally! Come on! I'm kidnapping you!"

Then his hands touch Stiles' thighs, finding where the tail is, and he watches out for it before picking Stiles up and throwing him over his shoulder.

"Hey! Watch it! What the hell!" Stiles clings to Scott — maybe even gets his new claws into his skin, and if so, serves the wolf right, honestly. "I can walk, you know!"

"Not fast enough!" Scott replies with this bubbly little chirp in his voice. "I'll bring him back in a few days, Sheriff!"

And there's Stiles' dad — waving to them from the door while Stiles gets manhandled into the passenger seat of the Jeep. None the wiser, it seems. Stiles is giving his dad the mental side eye for not being suspicious about Scott's behavior. It was super suspicious.

Stiles also side eyes Scott when he gets in the driver seat and starts pulling the Jeep out of the driveway. "I don't remember giving you permission to drive my baby."

"You didn't," Scott tells him. He puts a hand on Stiles' leg though, stilling the way Stiles is shifting and moving and desperately trying to find a way to get comfortable when he's sitting on his tail, basically. "But I'd like to see you trying to drive her when you've got better things to worry about."

Stiles watches his house disappear out of the corner of his eye and sinks low in the seat at the end of the block. "Fuck I can't take this," he says, yanking open his pants. He reaches back, pushing his hips up so that he can reach his tail, and pulls it up and out before slumping back down in relief.

"Better?" Scott asks, sounding amused. He pets Stiles' knee.

"Much, asshole," Stiles sighs, smoothing out the fur of his tail with a nervous twitch in his hands. "Keep driving."

He can survive at Scott's place.

*

Well.

For a given definition of _survive_ , anyway.

*

In Beacon Hills at night, even in the dead heat of summer, cold air comes down from the mountains and drops the temperatures down into the fifties or sixties. Something which Stiles' new, higher cat body temperature does not approve of. Especially since Scott is the bizarre kind of person who leaves his bedroom window open no matter what. The first night that Stiles spends over, Stiles paces near silently around the room with his sweatpants shoved low on his hips so that his long tail can have the freedom to swish and sway as he walked. He's torn completely with the need to bundle up against the chill and the irritation of his fur chafing against the pull of clothes.

Scott watches him carefully out of the corner of his eye, hands fidgeting with some unspoken urge, and Stiles pretends not to notice while he fights his own impulse to slink up against Scott's side and soak in the heat he's radiating in waves. It'd be weird, Stiles' brain insists, even after the brief bit of cuddling earlier. When it comes time to sleep, though, Scott lifts the edge of the blanket and gestures for Stiles to join him. 

"Come on, dude," Scott says when Stiles hesitates. "You're cold. I've been watching your fur fluff up all night. You can just let your tail hang out from under the blankets. It'll be fine. I'll keep you plenty warm."

It's really all the temptation that Stiles needs, to be honest. Soon, he's sliding his feet under the blanket and pressing into the circle of Scott's arms. It's embarrassing, shivering like this as Scott's hands rub his back, but that doesn't stop the relieved little mewl that creeps out of his throat before he gives in entirely. He melts against Scott, squeezing a thigh between Scott's legs and murmuring an apology even as he clings closer, ears twitching back in worry. Even though he's still wearing sweatpants, Scott is wearing much less, and it seems a little too intimate for what a situation like this requires.

"If you tell anyone about this, I won't hesitate to kill you," Stiles whispers, trying for some semblance of control. 

He's being deadly serious about this threat, but Scott just huffs his laughter and scratches his fingers across the nape of Stiles' neck. "Sure okay," Scott says. "I can keep a secret."

Scott's hand is a comfort, pulling away the irritation that sits at the front of Stiles' face — tight and unpleasant until Scott's nails drag bluntly through his hair and down his spine, sweeping lower and lower until suddenly Stiles is twitching up against the press of Scott's fingers and his whole body squeezes around Scott's with a grunt, twitching as his tail flips loudly against the side of the bed. 

"You okay?" Scott asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Stiles says, heart pounding as he kind of mimes striking Scott's chest with his fist. "Just um. Getting comfortable. You're basically like a rock, you know."

"Yeah, sorry about that, dude," Scott says, circling his fingers at the root of Stiles' tail.

Stiles and hides his face against Scott's shoulder, breathing hard. He feels flushed — too warm after so much cold, but even the risk embarrassment isn't enough to make him flee from the bed. Especially when it feels good just being right here. It's just that Stiles is pretty sure that he's pressing a hard on into Scott's hip and that crosses friendship lines that they haven't talked about — not really.

It doesn't stop him from wrapping his fingers around Scott's arms and holding on as he rubs his face against Scott's shoulders and neck and jaw — or from whispering tightly, "Don't—"

"Feels weird?" Scott asks, mouth pressed near his temple. His voice sounds deep — very controlled, very calm, the very antithesis of the wash of feeling sliding through Stiles' nerves right now.

"No," Stiles says, trembling and feeling drowsy and very awake all at once. "I just... I can't sleep if you do that." Scott doesn't stop, though, and Stiles' breath hitches as he actively tries to force himself to relax. Scott smiles a little and scratches his fingers up and down Stiles' spine again until he's arching rigidly into his touch. When he stops, Stiles slumps against him at once. "Dude," Stiles gasps. "Super uncalled for."

Scott hums. "Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all, and he smooths his hand against Stiles' shoulder blades instead. "That was mean."

"Totally mean," Stiles agrees.

"Felt good though, yeah?" Scott asks.

"Yeah," Stiles says, sounding very put upon.

Scott noses in against Stiles' cheek. "Want me to do it again?"

Stiles breathes unsteadily near Scott's jaw for a moment and says, "Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out. Go wild."

Scott hums and grasps the arm that's tucked around his ribs. He rubs Stiles' shoulder, the blade, and back down to the elbow. He kisses the bulk of muscle, and very gently pets Stiles' back in long sweeps that go down and up and down and up... He squeezes at the nape of Stiles' neck. He scratches softly behind Stiles' cat ears and they flick forward. And down again with a flat palm.

Stiles' hips lift eagerly and Stiles makes a frustrated noise when Scott's hand just goes back up again. "Come on, man," Stiles says. "If you're gonna do it, just—"

"No rush," Scott says.

Stiles sags. "Could you consider a rush? For me?"

"Mmm," Scott says. "I guess. Since you asked so nicely."

Scott starts off with a simple rub of his fingers, and Stiles holds tight to him, breathing deeply and steadily as his hips move back and forth against Scott's thigh. If he was at all uncertain about getting hard over this, there's no doubt now as he presses nervously against Scott's hip. There's a part of him that doesn't believe this is happening. He and Scott have always shared an unusually close relationship, but it's been especially true lately. It seems as if a little fur doesn't get in the way of that. It might in fact make it a little easier to cross what few lines they have left.

Like now. When Scott scratches at the base of his tail, Stiles wants to roll on top of Scott and arch into the touch, but the very vivid image of straddling Scott on all fours — with his ass stuck in the air like he's fucking begging for it — leaves him tense. Even so, the hard circling of Scott's fingers over the base of his spine makes Stiles' breathing go haywire — driving out uneven hitches and gasps that hadn't been present earlier. He can feel his face going hot against Scott's collarbone, and Scott ducks his face close for a moment, like he wants to be able to tell in the darkness whether Stiles is really blushing or not.

"God, you're adorable," Scott blurts out, hand sweeping up to pet through Stiles' hair.

Caught, Stiles tips his head back abruptly, lips parted and eyes drooping low. He feels drugged, to be quite honest. It's not like Scott's doing much either — just nuzzling close like Stiles smells good and dragging endless circles across a patch of nerves that makes Stiles want to expose himself with a low purr. Stiles whines instead. It seems like a manlier alternative to purring — not that Stiles can bring himself to care too much about it or the way he's pressing the swell of his dick against the crest of Scott's hip. Today is all about how his self control is shot to shit today, apparently, so there's no point in hiding — especially if they're gonna do what he thinks they're gonna do anyway. 

"You gonna come?" Scott asks breathlessly, and when Stiles nods — because _why not?_ , because he is, because it doesn't matter that he's gonna have jizz all inside his sweat pants — Scott makes a gruff noise of happiness. 

Then he's crowding Stiles back to kiss the exposed slope of his neck, nipping upward until Stiles is mewling. Then his hand is back down to Stiles' tail, rubbing harder now and shoving down the waist of Stiles' pants a little so that he can palm his hip before going right back to the tail. Stiles twitches, his cat ears flattening back, and he moans as he comes between them.

It's so sudden that it takes Stiles a moment to realize that it's happened — that he's been left, slack jawed and loose and _wet_ in the bracket of Scott's arms. Then, as his come starts to make his pants stick to his legs, Stiles feels mortification climb into his throat. He's sixteen going on seventeen now — practically an adult, really — but Scott's been with Allison. Like, he's been with Allison _a lot_ , so he probably thinks— He's gotta be thinking...

As if drawn by the heat of Stiles' blush, Scott's mouth slides down the length of Stiles' neck to his collarbones and then down again to his nipples, which are tightening a little with exposure to the cool air while the rest of him feels like it's burning hot. 

Stiles' hands shake as they find the curls of Scott's hair. "Uh, wow," he manages roughly. His tongue clicks at the roof of his mouth as he swallows apprehensively. Scott continues to suck lazily at Stiles' nipple, pulling it between his teeth until Stiles' breath cuts off with a low grunt. It's impossible for Scott not to have noticed that Stiles has come — by smell if nothing else. Nonetheless, he seems to be determined to get Stiles right back on that knife edge of arousal, and Stiles is more than fine with that, though he isn't sure if he can do it quite so soon. Stiles puts his hands on Scott's shoulders, wondering if Scott would back off if he pushed. He doesn't push. Instead, he says, "This is some development, huh?" and hopes a little that Scott will have to say something.

Scott does not say anything. He hums, agreeing, and when Stiles' whole body goes taut with the vibration, Scott holds him tightly like he wants to brace Stiles through it as much as he wants to force Stiles to accept the pleasure. Stiles' dick gives a feeble twitch — willing but not yet ready to respond — but his nerves are still fried. Even his fingers feel a little tingly from the residual rush. So Stiles pushes Scott back. 

"Wait... wait..."

Scott pulls away with a slick smack and looks up at Stiles blearily. If Stiles didn't have Scott's hard on nudging over the bone of his thigh, he might think that Scott was the one who'd come just a second ago. The poor guy looks a little lost and more than a little needy, and god, the things Stiles wants to do for him. 

He seems happy enough to have Stiles lean down to kiss him. They press their mouths together — sweet and insistent — and Stiles is more glad than ever that he's come already. Though his sweatpants are clinging to his thighs now, he's got the presence of mind to be able to appreciate the easy give and take that builds between them. Scott is greedier than him, driven by the demand of his body and needing the generosity of Stiles' lips. 

Even so, Scott jerks back a little when Stiles tries to add his tongue to the equation.

"What? What's wrong?" Stiles asks.

"Nothing," Scott says quickly and goes in for another kiss. When Stiles tries again though, Scott pulls away once more. "Sorry, sorry. It's just —" His thumb pushes across the swell of Stiles' lower lip. "Your tongue," he says like it's some kind of mystery. "It's rough."

"Is it?" Stiles tongue peeks out to lick cautiously at the pad of Scott's finger, and sure enough, Stiles can hear the soft rasp as his tongue drags at Scott's skin. "Huh. S'this gonna be a boner killer? Cause I gotta say, I was looking forward to getting you off."

"Really?" Scott looks dazed at the prospect as he watches Stiles turn to lick at his knuckles.

"Yeah. Interested?" Stiles' tail tip flicks while he waits. Scott nods, eyes hooded, and when Stiles moves to push him onto his back, he goes without argument. "Cool then," Stiles says and climbs over him, shifting uncomfortably when his clothes pull at his skin. "Wait, fuck. These pants—"

Scott's hands sweep down his sides and under the waistband of Stiles' sweats. "Let's get you out of them then," and sits up, holding Stiles' close as they push down his pants together. There are whole seconds where Stiles shivers, left exposed to the chilly night air, but Scott pulls the blankets back up as he lies back down and tucks them around Stiles. "Better?"

Stiles kisses Scott instead of answering, and palms his hands across the front of Scott's body. He's thought often of having Scott in exactly this position before, but his new senses make it difficult to appreciate it properly. Scott smells good to him, and he wants to bury himself in the scent. It makes Stiles extra glad that they're doing this here, in Scott's bed, where they can be surrounded by the very thing that's driving him a little crazy. Licking a path down the length of Scott's body just seems like the most natural thing in the world to do — right on up there with nosing into the crevice of Scott's neck and rubbing his cheeks against his fingers when Scott tries to bring him back up for kisses.

"You still okay with this?" Stiles asks, murmuring the words against Scott's lips. He's digging his fingers into the sheets on either side of Scott's waist, and if he can hear the threads giving way under claws, Scott can too. Maybe that's why Scott shifts underneath him — uneasy, perhaps, or maybe excited. It's hard to tell, wrapped up in the scent of Scott's sweat and arousal. He's been a cat for less than a days; he can't be expected to pick out the intricacies of different emotions. Why bother when he can just ask? "Please say yes."

"Yes," Scott gasps, hissing when Stiles slides his hand into his underwear immediately. Scott shivers, heart pounding, as Stiles wraps his fingers around his length. "Careful," he warns.

"I'm being very careful," Stiles assures. 

He looks down between them, wanting to see the way Scott's dick pushes out from within the circle of his fingers, but with the blanket thrown over them, it's too dark. Stiles can feel how wet Scott is when he swipes his thumb over the tip, and the heavy musk of his arousal makes Stiles' mouth water, but the actual sight of him is hidden in absolute darkness. He slides down the bed, shrugging off the blanket until his tail is free, and is immediately grateful for it even though his skin tightens up from the cold. He pulls Scott's underwear down too while he's at it, to his ankles and then off, and then presses his face against the curve of Scott's dick with a shuddering inhale.

The noise that Scott makes from the head of the bed is low, short — almost not there at all, but Stiles' ears twitch forward to catch it. When he looks up, Scott's face is as clear to him as it would be in daylight, and Stiles smiles at the sight of him, panting and dazed as he watches. Stiles listens to Scott as he runs his lips along the underside of his dick, open mouthed but careful to keep his tongue behind his teeth. He can practically taste what it'd be like to have Scott's cock shoving against the roof of his mouth, trying desperately for depth and the tight clench of Stiles' throat, and when Scott's hand is suddenly covering the nape of Stiles' neck, a low purr pushes out from his lungs.

"Stiles—"

"Don't tempt me," Stiles says at once and turns his face to the crest of Scott's hip before licking a rough stripe over the bone. The pull of his tongue over Scott's skin is slow, slow, slow, and Scott curls into it, dick leaking a thick blurt of come onto his belly as Stiles pumps him. "This is as close as I think your dick can take."

Stiles kisses the tip of Scott's dick and sucks it clean as best he can. What's left, he brings to his mouth with his fingers and licks them clean before moving up the bed again to kiss Scott — to lick at the corner of his mouth as his hand curls delicately around his cock and jerks him slow and steady.

"Gonna kill me," Scott grunts as he helplessly fucks up into Stiles' fist. 

"Only in the best way, though." Stiles smiles and licks quickly at Scott's neck when he tosses his head back in pleasure. "Come on," he urges, breathing hard. "I want you to come all over my hand and then my hand will smell like you when I jerk off again."

Scott makes a loud, unhappy noise. "Ugh, fuck, you're an asshole," he says, but he still shakes when Stiles tightens his fist around his cock — and when Stiles licks sharply over one of Scott's hard nipples, Scott's whole body tightens up in surprise before he's coming across Stiles' knuckles in heavy, white pulses. In the aftermath, Scott looks very much like he doesn't want to move. He remains on the pillows, trying to catch his breath, and shifts only to get a better vantage point as Stiles wraps his dirtied hand around his cock and strips it a few times before coming on Scott's hip. 

Breathless, Stiles sags against Scott's side and yanks the blanket over them. His hand is still tacky with come, and when he brings up his thigh, he can feel Scott's hip, dripping with the same. Stiles supposes that he should feel weird about that, but he's too exhausted to feel anything other than satisfaction.

Scott's arm wraps over Stiles' shoulders. His thumb rubs small circles behind Stiles' shoulder. "This was good," he says, sounding drowsy already as he nuzzles against Stiles' brow and hairline. "We should do it again."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. He can feel one of his ears flicking as Scott's sleepy sigh sweeps over it, and so he shifts higher onto the bed to claim more of Scott's pillow. Exhaustion is dragging him down and fast. "We seemed to do pretty well. Could do it again."

Scott hums in agreement. "Maybe in the morning."

As Stiles lays contentedly against Scott's side, his tail curls over their ankles and remains there, still, through the rest of the night.


End file.
